


Noise

by ClockWords



Category: Red vs Blue
Genre: Arguments, Happy Ending, M/M, Making Out, grif is so tired omg, let them be in love and happy my god, mature for language and the fact that I want to make smut but wrote kissing instead, redvsblue - Freeform, rvb, this is super soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22997266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockWords/pseuds/ClockWords
Summary: Okay but what if Simmons went back to talk to Grif instead of Dylan in season 15 before they left to find Church?
Relationships: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons
Comments: 11
Kudos: 91





	Noise

**Author's Note:**

> I’m tired and l love Grimmons. That’s about it. 
> 
> I wanna write smut, but decided to be soft instead. Maybe there’ll be a sequel, who knows. Currently working on some Chucker stuff, though. 
> 
> ALSO. My Simmons face canon is from TheDiceThrower on Instagram. She kinda has a thing for Jim Hawkins and it shows lmfao. 
> 
> Enjoy, I guess.

He was so  _ frustrated.  _

He paced; paced and paced and paced. 

_ Back and forth, back and forth… _

His head was too noisy. Too  _ angry. _

He finally had the chance to  _ relax.  _ Relax, enjoy himself, even. He didn’t have to hear any alarm sirens, or patients screaming in the med bay after a mission-gone-wrong. Didn’t have to  _ sit in boredom during ridiculous board meetings with people he barely knew.  _

Not only that, but people no longer expected anything out of him. 

Grif could finally just…  _ be.  _

_ Oh but of  _ course  _ some random weirdo has to tell us Church is alive. _

Grif just wanted a break. Time to recover from the bullshit of a journey he had to ride through the last several long,  _ ridiculous  _ years.

_ I’ve been thrown over a cliff, had warthogs chucked at me, been blown up  _ and  _ run over by a tank, had my organs replaced, had my ass kicked by a freelancer more than fuckin’ once, had to crash-land a pelican, chase the Meta, and don’t even get me started on- _

Noisy. His head was too noisy. 

He paced back and forth in the small, dark cave he ran to as soon as he received the news. 

_ Why can’t Church just stay dead? _

It wasn’t even his problem. It  _ wasn’t.  _ They weren’t friends. Were they? He has no idea. He knows he relates to Church, often at that. But  _ friends _ ? No. 

_ Simmons is my friend. Church was an asshole who didn’t have the word  _ deceased  _ in his vocabulary. _

Back and forth,  _ back and forth _ -

He stopped pacing, letting his brain turn this situation over and over. 

“...I’m so  _ fucking _ tired of these people!” He growls in frustration, throwing his helmet sideways to the ground in the process. The metal and glass of the visor vibrates into sound as it hits the dirt, clacking and rolling until it stops at the wall of the cave. 

His bangs flowed over his face, the small pony tail springing as it’s released from the confinement of his helmet. 

“God, just one  _ fucking moment.  _ That’s all I ask!  _ I just want to be a civilian again.”  _

His fists ball up, the sound of his Kevlar suit and finger plating shifting together as his fingers curl echoes in Grif’s ears. 

The rage builds up, rage and frustration and  _ exhaustion. _

_ What the hell is  _ with  _ these people? Don’t they get fucking tired of Church’s shit too? _

But of course they don’t. 

“Tucker and Caboose would  _ die  _ for that asshole.” He spat bitterly, his long bangs dragging over his face as he glared at the wall in front of him. 

Then his shoulders drop a little, as he thinks;

_ ...but I would die for Simmons. Wouldn’t I? It’s no different. _

He growls again at his own realization; understanding their point of view only made him angrier, honestly. 

He yells in frustration, the sound violent and echoing throughout the cave. His hands grip his long, thick hair, tightly grasping the strands as he screams into nothing but cold, stuffy air. 

Grif’s breathing was increasing in speed, his shoulders visibly rising and falling as his emotions whirled faster and faster. 

He felt like he was being  _ robbed  _ of something he so  _ obviously  _ earned.

  
  
  


The others were uneasy. Tucker was only focused on finding Church, along with Caboose and Carolina. Sarge, of course, saw an opportunity to find adventure and took it. Donut, always the caring soul, wanted to help any way he could. So he was on board, of course. 

But Simmons. 

What did Simmons want?

Everyone was preparing for a long journey, not questioning a damned thing in the hopes of finding Church alive and well. Dylan noticed Grif hadn't joined them yet, and this fact made her uneasy. 

She looks around for a familiar soldier in maroon, but was relieved to see he was already making his way to Grif.

Simmons was making a beeline for the mouth of the cave, setting his weapon on the ground before he walked through the entrance. He approached slowly, his hands to his chest as he entered the dark, quiet cave. 

His footsteps signaled Grif that he had an unwelcome visitor.

_ Oh my fucking  _ god  _ if it’s that stupid reporter- _

_ “ _ Grif?”

Grif tenses at the voice he knows  _ oh so well, _ his back turned to it. 

_ ...of course they sent him. Why the fuck wouldn’t they.  _

Simmons looks into the darkness of the cave, and spots an orange helmet on the ground. Minor scratches were scattered over the metal, a few from Grif’s violent removal of the equipment. 

“... _ go away.”  _ He says darkly, his hands balling up once more. 

“Sorry. Not gonna happen.” Simmons says matter-of-factly. And  _ oh  _ did that tone grate at Grif. 

“I’m not  _ fucking _ going with you people!” He yells, finally turning to look at his best friend with fire in his eyes. “I’m  _ sick  _ of stupid adventures! I don’t give a fuck what you do, Simmons; I’m staying right  _ here.”  _

_ Stubborn. So goddamn stubborn, _ Simmons thought. 

“And those guys sending  _ you in  _ won’t change my goddamn mind-“

“Nobody sent me, jackass. I came to you on my  _ own. _ ”

Oh. 

_ Oh.  _

These words churn in Grif’s angered mind;  _ I came to you on my own- _

__ “Why the  _ fuck  _ would you do that?” 

_ Oh good. Now I’m starting a fight that I would rather  _ not  _ have to deal with.  _

Simmons’ helmet kept his expression concealed, but Grif knew him too damn well. His slight head movement backwards told Grif that Simmons wasn’t expecting that response. Wasn’t expecting, and was probably hurt to hear it. 

“Because I don’t want to leave your dumbass behind! Come on, everyone’s waiting for you-“

“Oh my god, what part of  _ I’m not going  _ do you not understand? Aren’t you the smart one, asshole? I said I wasn’t going, and I fuckin’ meant it.” 

“But-“

“Aren’t you sick of this bullshit yet?”

Grif’s emotions were clouding his vision as he moved closer to Simmons, his eyes boiling and his voice rising. 

“ _ Because I sure as hell am!” _ Grif’s voice was the angriest and probably the first loudest Simmons had ever heard it. Grif kicks the nearest rock, sending it flying out of the cave’s cracked entrance. Simmons is tense in response, but thankful Grif was mindful enough to watch where he swung his leg. 

The cave is silent for a moment, before the sound of pressured air is released and the soft  _ click  _ of metal fills the silence. 

Simmons sets his helmet neatly on the floor of the cave, taking a couple of steps to set it against the wall. His dark, crimson hair framed his face; somewhat matted from wearing the helmet. 

And  _ god does he have a  _ lot  _ of freckles- _

“Yes. I’m tired of it, too, Grif. I’m tired, and annoyed, and honestly kinda shocked about the entire situation. But we can’t just  _ not  _ react. Church was our friend. And he’d do the same for us.” 

Grif scoffs at these words. “Really?  _ Would he?  _ Would he, Simmons? He would never-“ 

“He  _ died  _ for us, Grif!” Simmons’ voice was rising now, too. It came out steady and stern and  _ he’s actually right what the fuck- _

This statement shocks Grif back. It was entirely unpleasant. Like someone had completely crushed his sternum with invisible weight. 

And  _ dammit  _ Simmons is  _ right.  _

Church really did die for them, didn’t he? 

Grif’s shoulders drop, his expression falling in shame as he looked to the side. A  _ child. I’m acting like a child- _

“I want a normal life too, Grif. I  _ really  _ do. But sometimes shit happens. You of all people should be able to understand that stupid concept.” The maroon soldier sighs heavily, suddenly feeling all of his anger leak away through his skin, leaving behind something Simmons would prefer  _ not  _ to talk about.

“...At least come for me?” He asks softly, Simmons leaning his weight on one foot as he’s leans a few inches forward. 

Every fiber of Grif’s body said he needed to scream.  _ Scream  _ and  _ run.  _

Die. He would  _ die  _ for Simmons. 

And now Simmons wants him to go on this stupid quest to find someone who  _ should be fuckin’ dead _ -

Noisy. Grif’s mind is noisy noisy  _ noisy.  _

Simmons waited for his best friend’s response patiently, his face expressing every thought going through the cyborg’s brain. 

“...I  _ can’t.  _ I just can’t, Simmons.” Grif says finally, and regretfully as he turns his back. 

And this action was enough to send those emotions Simmons had into a frenzy. 

“You want to be left alone on this damn moon? You don’t even know how long we’ll be gone!” 

Grif growled softly to himself as his best friend’s voice suddenly filled the stuffy air, and Grif decided he was  _ really  _ sick of standing. He presses his armored back to the jagged walls of the cave, and slid down with a horrid screech of the metal against rock. Simmons tenses at the sound, then glared at Grif as the orange soldier pulled his knees to his chest. 

And suddenly, Simmons feels his anger disappearing just as quickly as it came. 

He shakes his head, and notices his legs making decisions for him. 

Simmons sat down in front of Grif’s shins, crossing his own with his hands in his lap. The motion made Grif raise in eyebrow in question, then decided he really didn’t give a fuck  _ what  _ Simmons did. 

Silence fell through the cave again. To Grif, it was like the universe only consisted of two things; himself, and the redhead right in front of him. Grif took this as a chance to examine his best friend; really  _ look  _ at what time has done to Simmons’ face. 

Scars. It had a lot of scars. Some deep, some minuscule. And of course, the metal across his right eye. The skin that used to be there was now attached to Grif’s own face. He shared one of Simmons’ bright green eyes, in the same place pale skin clashed with rich caramel. 

Grif’s eyes travel over sharp, pale cheekbones, along with a slender nose and  _ constellations  _ of freckles. 

_ Pretty,  _ he thought. Simmons is  _ pretty.  _

Simmons didn’t seem to mind the examination he was receiving, for he was doing the same to Grif. Grif lost some of the baby fat in his face after years of constant fighting and, well,  _ running away.  _ He was definitely still stocky as all hell, but more muscle was stacked on top. He still had some of his belly, but it was nothing compared to their Blood Gulch days. Simmons noticed a scar that started at the end of his jaw, and ended in a sharp tip at what would be his cheek bone. Rich, caramel skin; so  _ different _ from his own pale pallet. It’s dark, and beautiful and smooth- 

“When was the last time you cut your hair?” Simmons asks absently, tilting his head as he examined Grif’s long strands. 

Grif snorts. “Yeah? What about you,  _ Jim Hawkins _ ?” 

Simmons couldn’t help but smile at that. 

Yes, his hair had a stark resemblance to the fictional character, minus the ragged ponytail at the nape. But the bangs that grew from his widows peak were far longer, reaching damn near his jawline, now. The hair at his sides was just a little past his ears, now, and his undercut was starting to grow out. 

Simmons liked the comparison, though. This character was well loved, and smart and brave and honestly  _ incredibly  _ attractive, to Simmons. 

_ Literally everything I’m not, but I’ll take what I can get.  _

“Okay, maybe we both need a haircut.” He says finally, grinning a little. 

Ease settled between them, now. Years of looking at the same visors and experiencing the same habits one another had left them in comfortable silence. The anger and frustration was mostly dust in the wind; what remained was something far more  _ raw _ and _ vulnerable _ . 

The comment about their hair was simply a way to diffuse the strain in their situation. 

And Grif knew this. He  _ knew  _ what Simmons was trying to do. 

And yet he found himself appreciating it. Because only Simmons could get away with  _ that.  _

Simmons crosses his armored arms over Grif’s raised knees, then rested his chin atop the metal plating. 

Grif was… conflicted. Conflicted and kinda nervous. 

Temptation, is what he’d call this. It was rare,  _ incredibly  _ rare, but when Simmons  _ really  _ wanted Grif to do something, he’d pull  _ this.  _ Pleading eyes, and physical contact. 

They had a line they hadn’t yet crossed. Even after years of knowing each other, there was a line they were both afraid to step over. And that line had the label “Physical Contact” slapped over it. 

Grif was touch starved. So,  _ so  _ touch starved. 

But he was also  _ really  _ good at hiding this fact. 

Grif was once accustomed to having his baby sister with him, always wanting hugs and always wanting to hold his hand when they went to places back in Hawaii. Kai was just a touchy person, and always had been. And that was familiar to Grif. 

Until he enlisted. 

They don’t talk about that time during the Tower Of Procreation. Because,  _ yeah,  _ it really shouldn’t have had any effect on them considering the two can’t reproduce  _ with each other.  _

They saw an opportunity, and took it. 

So yes, Grif is touch starved. Sue him. 

So as Simmons stares at the orange spartan in front of him, with his arms and chin resting on said soldier’s knees, Grif took the chance to reach over and touch his best friend’s face. 

“...You’re a fucking asshole, you know that? For trying to drag me into this mess.”

“Okay, fatass.” Simmons said quietly with a small smile, leaning into Grif’s rare touch. 

Knowing that it was  _ him  _ that broke Grif’s self control had Simmons in a minor frenzy. He knew damn well how controlled Grif is; always holding back because that’s what he did best. 

_ Just touch me and stop treating me like fuckin’ glass- _

“...Okay. I’ll go.” Grif said quietly, his thumb running over a sharp cheekbone. 

He said it so quietly Simmons nearly missed it. 

“Wait- really?” He perks up a little, sharp and hopeful eyes boring into Grif’s unsure ones. 

“Yeah. Yeah I’ll fuckin’ go…” Grif sighs, pulling his hand away from Simmons’ pale face. 

_ Okay, no, I didn’t say  _ stop  _ touching me- _

Simmons laced his hand with Grif’s, the one that had just moments before been touching his face. He had raised his head up from Grif’s knees, and the latter let his large legs fall on either side of Simmons. 

This, this was new. 

And  _ new  _ set off all alarms, for Grif. 

When there’s a new mission, a new workout routine with Wash, a new lunch menu, a new teammate on his squad, a new  _ anything.  _

“New” meant  _ change.  _ And Grif wasn’t keen on that idea. 

Simmons noticed the bewilderment in his friend’s eyes, but decided he was feeling adventurous today; despite looking away. 

The cyborg’s grip tightened, just slightly, and Simmons refused to make eye contact as he did so. He was toeing at that imaginary line, testing just how strong it was.

Then his human eye nearly falls out of its socket when he realizes Grif’s moved the back of his hand to his lips. 

Simmons looks up, his breath hitching at the sight. 

Grif held the back of his best friend’s hand to his full lips, closing his eyes with his eyebrows knitted. Then, he pulls the plated hand away from his lips, and shifts to hold it with both hands now. Grif raises it to his forehead, closing his eyes tighter as his face ducks down. 

“I’m sorry.” He says simply, and Simmons knows what that means. 

_ I’m sorry for being a selfish prick, please don’t hate me. Thanks.  _

Buzzing, Grif’s brain was  _ buzzing  _ with noise once more. 

Simmons could feel heat at his pale face, even feeling it tipped at his ears. But he paid it no mind. 

This was Grif, after all. They already fucked in a closet, what else could he  _ possibly  _ be embarrassed about?

“It’s okay. I get why you were so frustrated… I kinda am, too.” Simmons melts, just a little, as he feels Grif’s grip tighten around his slender hand. 

Then he pulls away, much to Simmons’ dismay. Grif sets his maroon friend’s hand down, but then places both of his own on each side of Simmons’ face. 

“You know, we’re probably just gonna die out there, right? Like. Actually die.” 

Simmons couldn’t fight back the toothy smile that crept over him. “Eh. That’s not really anything new.” 

Grif smiles, just a little, and notices how Simmons leans into the hold of his right hand. Grif swallows, his eyes taking in the sight before him. 

_ God why is this guy so pretty? _

Silence, for a third time, filled the cold, damp air of the cave. This time, not quite as comfortable as the previous silences.

This silence held unsaid conversations, the future of their relationship, and unspoken promises. 

Grif, the risky human that he is, decided not only to step over the line, but also to put about a whole ass mile between him and the side he was previously on. 

His lips were on Simmons’ before he realized he made the motion for it. He held both sides of the startled man’s face, eyes closed easily as he worked his mouth slowly. 

Short circuiting. Simmons was  _ actually  _ short circuiting. All thoughts stopped, and disappeared all at once. Blank. He went blank. 

Okay. Maybe he  _ hasn’t  _ kissed anyone before, and yeah, maybe Grif’s  _ kinda  _ the love of his life, but he’s going to try anyway. 

He mimics Grif’s movements, but had his arms slowly wrap around over the larger man’s shoulders rather than take to holding his face. Simmons’ movements were unsure and awkward at first, but, ever the pleaser, learns quickly. 

Grif notices the fast learning, and decides to file that away for later. 

_ Okay. He’s really warm. Grif’s lips are  _ really  _ warm- _

One large, rough hand moves to tilt a pale chin slightly upwards, the other falling to Simmons’ pale, slender neck. Grif tilts his own head, deepening the kiss in the process and diving straight for the kill. 

The redhead couldn’t stop the small squeak at the back of his throat when he felt Grif’s tongue swipe over his thin bottom lip. 

_ Permission. He’s asking for permission? _

He hesitantly opens his mouth, just a little, and it gives Grif the perfect opportunity to claim what’s his. 

He pulls Simmons closer by gently pulling his arms, Simmons having to let his legs adjust so he could follow Grif’s movements. 

The slender of the two lets Grif take control of the kiss, his warm tongue lazily rolling over and mapping out his warm mouth. 

From his crooked left canine, to the back of the wet heat, Grif mapped it out. Grif wanted to burn it to his memory; suddenly, he realized their upcoming adventures could keep him from  _ ever  _ doing this again-

His movements became almost desperate as he makes a change of pace, their breathing and small noises rising in speed and frequency of occurrence. A soft moan escapes Simmons, from deep at the back of his throat. It was high pitched, and  _ needy.  _

Simmons had his eyes closed, head tilted and eyebrows nervously knitted together. He suddenly feels the hand that held his chin move to caress his jaw while the hand at his neck moved to do the same thing. 

Grif held Simmons like he was the last living thing on this godforsaken moon. Like Simmons was  _ worth every fucking bullet wound and warthog thrown at him- _

A rough groan escaped him then, completely devouring everything Simmons had to give him. 

And Simmons gave him  _ his all.  _

The need for air pulled them away, but not before Grif quickly swiped his tongue across his best friend’s lower lip. Their foreheads touch, the two breathing the same air. Grif’s thumb absently rubbed circles over the cyborg’s high cheekbones, closing his mismatched eyes to help him tune out his own breathing. 

_ Jesus- when was the last time I actually kissed somebody? _

__

As soon as Simmons catches his breath, he leans in for more. Because, after all, how can you possibly  _ not  _ kiss Dexter Grif when the opportunity is given?

Grif was actually surprised at the advancement, not expecting Simmons to take such initiative. 

This time, Simmons pushed to dominate, using the few minutes of learning to press his hands to Grif’s chest and push his back against the wall as they sat. Grif sighs in bliss, eyes fluttering closed as he let Simmons take the reigns. 

He’s clumsy at first, trying to figure out how the hell  _ any of this fuckin’ works.  _

But he manages, and figures it out.

_ Fast, he figures it out fast. _

A warm tongue slips past plush, dark lips, taking its time to map out just as much as Grif did. 

But, of course, logic likes to slap Simmons in the face. 

He quickly pulls away and pulls his hands from Grif’s chest, only to curl them against his own as if Grif burns to the touch. 

His pale face allows any and all flushing to crawl up his skin. Pink and red creeps up his neck, ears, and cheekbones. 

“Th-the others, they’re st-still waiting on us and we should  _ really  _ get the fuck out before th-they-“ 

Grif sighs dramatically, his head falling back against hard rock behind him as his eyes glare up at the cave ceiling. 

“Oh my  _ fucking god.  _ Ya know, if we just  _ stayed here,  _ we could make out all  _ goddamn day.  _ But  _ no.”  _

Simmons only brightens at his words, then he quickly shakes his head to clear his mind. 

“Whatever, come on, fatass. We’ve been in here for god knows how long. The others are gonna be pissed-“

“Notice how they haven’t yelled at us yet, though.” Grif states as if this were a fact he was aware of right from the beginning. 

Then Simmons takes that second to think;  _ really  _ think. 

“...They know-“

“Yep.” 

“And they didn’t-“ 

“Yep.” 

“ _ Donut could be-“ _

“ _ Yep.”  _

__

Grif makes the first move to stand, picking up his helmet in the process. He looks down at a heated Simmons, then offers a hand. 

“Come on, jackass. It was your idea to stop kissing in the first place, so let’s just get this the fuck over with.” 

Simmons looks up at him, bites his lower lip (which Grif found to be  _ way  _ too attractive in its own right), then took the offered hand and hauled himself up. 

They walked out together, helmets back on to hide their expressions. It didn’t matter, though, because Grif could see Wash handing Tucker a flash of green. 

_ Oh good. People were betting on us.  _

Dylan was just happy that they could finally move on, and start this ridiculous adventure. 

  
  
  
  


Grif and Simmons were the last to board the pelican, but did so with their hands laced together. 

And finally, Grif noticed his head wasn’t so damned noisy. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
